


Same soldiers; different weapons

by seraf



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bounty Hunter, Crossover, F/M, Female Michael, First Order AU, Gen, I failed, Lucifer is Kylo Ren, Michael and Lucifer go undercover, Michael is Phasma, Rule 63, Star Wars AU, Stranded, Undercover AU, WIP, listen this was meant to be 500 words, slave AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 01:31:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7146644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraf/pseuds/seraf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michifer alternate universe - Michael as Captain Phasma, and Lucifer in the position of Kylo Ren.</p><p>After being stranded on a lowlife outpost, they do their best to blend in, even if it results in an inverse of power.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Omano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omano/gifts).



> So! This was supposed to be a short drabble, but might make it an ongoing story. Just bc I have no chill.
> 
> Faceclaim for Michael in this fic is Priyanka Chopra.

 

“We’re going to have to stay here the few days until Leader Snoke reassigns us to a different base,” Michael reported, turning off her comm and fastening the clip shut around her wrist again. She surveyed Lucifer briefly, taking in the mask and billowing white robes that he always remained cloaked in, the bottom now dredged with dust and blood. “Which means we’re - not going to be able to go out like this. In the most respectful way possible, sir, you do cause something of a spectacle.”

 

“You’re not exactly subtle yourself,” Lucifer retorted, inclining his head to Michael’s cortosis armor. “If anyone even glances at you, they’ll know we’re First Order.” 

 

Michael, inside her helmet, raised an eyebrow pointedly, before tugging off her helmet and pulling her armor off briskly, piece by piece, stripping down to the stormtrooper’s basic blacks in a handful of seconds flat. “I think I’ve got an extra set around here somewhere. It might be a little - monochromatic, but it’s still less noticeable than your outfit or armor.” It was with some regret that she packed her armor into a locker, regretting the loss of the protection that it would grant her.

 

“Will it fit?” Lucifer asked, hovering behind her, for a lack of anything else to do, slowly beginning to unravel from the - Michael secretly thought of them as drapes - of fabric that cloaked him.

 

She gave him a dry look before tossing him a shirt and pants. “I’m taller than you, sir. And they’re unisex, in case you were worried about that.” She pulled her hair out of the braids she used to keep her hair up in her helmet, tying it back in a simple ponytail. 

 

“This still isn’t totally subtle,” Lucifer grumbled, stepping behind a slight metal barrier to change his clothes, wincing as the collar of the shirt scraped over the newly-repaired scar across his face. He was going to find that desert brat if it was the last thing he did. Michael had stepped outside their craft, and was blasting at the First Order symbols that decorated the ship. She stepped back in before he had the chance to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing.

 

“We need to make this ship look like it was stolen, sir. Better to pass by as pirates or bounty hunters than First Order, especially after the Starkiller Base was, well, destroyed. I didn’t hit anything essential.” He nodded. It made sense, and now he was afraid he was a little bit lost. He was good for - intimidation, interrogation, being an attack dog. Subtlety and disguises were not his strongest suit.

 

Even if his father had once been a smuggler.

 

He shook his head, banishing that thought from his head. He didn’t have a father any more, remember? Nor had he ever needed one. All he needed was to become a weapon. And he had wanted to  _ hurt  _ his father, for granting him the blood, for giving him the fate to become one. He had done that. He had driven his lightsaber through his father’s chest and watched him fall into the abyss below.

 

He was happy. 

 

Right? 

 

Right?

 

Luckily, Michael interrupted him before he could dwell on that question for too long. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know the answer he would have given himself. His face was troubled, shadows cast across it as he turned to - was Michael his second in command, or was that Raphael? He couldn’t remember what Snoke had set up, but he certainly trusted the captain more than the general, and Raphael knew it, which gave her an edge up.

 

“Sir? Like I was saying, I - it’s not quite a connection, but I know somebody on this planet who can help us blend in. They won’t ask questions. I doubt two stranded First Order officers are the most shady people they’ve had pass through. I’ve sent a comm to Raphael. He’s in command of most of the ships as it stands, so when the remaining resources regroup, they should be able to retrieve us.” 

 

Lucifer nodded, already reaching for his lightsaber, before Michael’s hand caught his. He looked at her to realize her eyes were matching his, cautious and testing the waters, almost. “If we plan on blending in, Lucifer, you can’t be wearing a lightsaber. That’ll definitely out us.”

 

Lucifer was definitely unwilling to give up his blade, and for a moment, his grip just tightened as he scowled at the captain, but with great difficulty, she was able to push his hand back down. Grudgingly, he opened his fingers and let his lightsaber drop, without ceremony, on the table, where it rolled over. If weapons could give accusatory looks, he would have suspected that of his saber.

 

“We’ll see if we can set you up with a blaster or staff when we gather our packs, sir.” Michael said, her voice - as close as Michael could get to reassuring, hesitant for a moment before she patted Lucifer on the shoulder, picking up the lightsaber as if it was a bag of bantha dung, and tucking it into a side compartment so it wouldn’t be visible. She clapped him on the shoulder, pressing the combination that would allow the exit port to open.

 

He started to say something, and then dropped it, grumbling as he came to meet her side. She gave him an encouraging smile, before wrinkling up her nose a moment. “Better drop the scowl, sir. Someone’s going to end up picking a fight with you, and the people around here aren’t exactly known for playing fair.”

 

He directed the full power of his glare at her before morphing his face to fit a more neutral expression, stance hardening when he felt her almost-laugh, and used a quick burst of the Force to slam the docking door shut behind them. Maybe too roughly, but at this point he didn’t  _ care,  _ striding forwards into the milling crowd, who, quite frankly, had seen odder things. 

 

Michael rolled her eyes once she was sure that Lucifer wasn’t looking, typing a few words into her comm, knowing that even with the dire straits they were in, Raphael would find it funny.

 

_ Lucifer’s up to dramatics again. Worse than the bounty hunters, I swear. How many parsecs out are you? _

 

-

 

Catching up with Lucifer, she slung her arm into the crook of his elbow, fully intent on keeping a tight leash on him. They might both be weapons of a sort, and she had no doubt that he was capable of handling himself, but. But. 

 

If they were both weapons, she thought the ones they used were apropos. Lucifer was akin to his lightsaber - there was something ancient in their make, something that spoke too much of  _ destiny  _ and  _ control _ , like even if he was rebelling, he was just stepping back onto the path set for him. 

 

Lucifer’s lightsaber was unstable and harsh and very noticeable. Sometimes it wasn’t the right weapon for the situation, and sometimes it could be unexpected, lashing out sparks of power. That was what Lucifer, too, was like. Dark and unpredictable and an instant beacon to anyone with half the sense to look.

 

Michael didn’t have the time for any of that. She was a stormtrooper. 

 

She was like her First Order-issue blaster. Reliable, instantly recognizable as a weapon, and packing a good punch. Destiny was for Jedi and tormented Sith children. 

 

Their pace became even, syncing as Michael pulled Lucifer through the bustling, dusty streets, narrowing her eyes at everybody who seemed like they might want to rifle through their pockets. She didn’t have a lot of credits, but she had enough to get food and disguises, and she was ready and willing to blast an arm off of anyone who tried to steal from them.

 

She gave her holomap a cursory look, before pulling Lucifer behind her into an alley, walking past scrap durasteel and spice addicts curled into balls, muttering for spare credits or about whatever passing hallucination was passing through their addled minds. There was a store at the end of the alleyway, dingy and rundown, but otherwise nondescript, and she made her way up to the step, a grudging Lucifer in tow.

 

“This place is a dump,” he commented, nose wrinkled, as she studied the script next to the door, before running it through a quick decoder and reaching to knock three times; twice slow, once after a pause.

 

“Be that as it may, this place is going to help us stay incognito for the few days we have to stay here.” She didn’t mention that it could be much more than a few days, based on how far from Starkiller base they had been flung, and the fact that General Raphael hadn’t responded to her comm yet. She set her shoulders and cast her face into something appropriately menacing as a young Twi’lek slave opened the door. She finally dropped Lucifer’s elbow as she strode into the shop.

 

The Rodian behind the counter stepped forward, tipping their head to the side, making a clicking noise as they lifted one section of the counter and evaluated them both, shaking its head. “Those are stormtrooper clothes. Are you with the First Order?” Before Michael could answer, it shook its head, waving a hand dismissively in the air. “Of course, it doesn’t matter, as long as you have enough credits to keep my mouth shut.”

 

Michael was unimpressed, but not in the least surprised, and she dug in her pocket to pull out a good sum of money, enough that she could see the Rodian’s eyes widen, but as he reached for the money, she tucked her hand back into her pocket. “Payment later. Disguises first. We need something that can help us blend in for -” she glanced over at Lucifer, who seemed to be engaged in looking at a deactivated clone-era battle droid “- some period of time.”

 

The Rodian nodded sagely, following her glance to Lucifer. “Loose cannon, is he?”, it asked, in a voice that might technically be called a whisper. “I know his sort. Nothing good ever happens around them. You want my advice, just ditch him with a gang of pirates. He’s quite the looker, too, you might be able to make a sum off him.” 

 

“Not an option.” Michael said coldly. “As I was saying. Weapons, clothing, preferably enough that washing would last a week or so.” He nodded, evaluating her slightly, before, without warning, turning to look at Lucifer, and placing a dark green hand next to his mouth. 

 

“Hey, human, c’mere!” Lucifer arched an eyebrow, and his hand fell to his hip before he remembered that his lightsaber had been left on the ship. Michael shook her head slightly, enough for him to pick up on, and he stood by her side, as cheerful as ever.

 

The Rodian extended a gnarled hand. “Name’s Gwaz Dran, by the way.” Lucifer looked distastefully at the green limb before shaking. 

 

“Lucifer Morningstar.” He inclined his head in Michael’s direction. “She’s Michael, or Phasma. Designation number -” He frowned for a moment, and Michael felt something intrusive in her head, raising goosebumps on the skin on her back. It wasn’t the first time Lucifer hadn’t bothered with the pleasantries of speaking, and had just raided her or the troopers under her’s minds, but it would never feel exactly  _ pleasant.  _ “Designation FN-0000.”

 

Gwaz let out a low whistle. “Lucifer Morningstar, eh?” He turned his head towards Michael. “You know that’s gonna cost me  _ extra  _ to cover up, trooper. I’m assuming that’s what you are.” Michael’s eyes narrowed at his blatant blackmailing.

 

“Or I could just put a blaster charge between your eyes and save us all the trouble,” Michael retorted, hand slipping into place near the trigger of her blaster. Dran looked unhurried, like this wasn’t the first time he’d heard something like this, and examined his green-tilted nails, addressing his hands rather than Michael. 

 

“You’re not the worst thing to come through this shop, trooper. Sure, you could kill me, but take a look around.” Michael did so, dutifully, and noticed that the walls of the store were far too barren for Dran to have the reputation that he did. Most of the stuff up on the walls was cheap, broken, or otherwise useless. He flashed her and Lucifer something of a smug smile. “You want the good stuff, Orderlies, you’re going to have to do it with me  _ alive. _ ”

 

Smart of him, Michael thought, begrudgingly, as she tucked her gun back into her holster. He gave her a smile, patting her arm. “Good choice. Now, come along this way, trooper, Morningstar. Lots of goodies for the pair of you.” Michael wondered just what it was that they had gotten themselves up to on this crash landing ( and  _ why  _ FN-3502 even knew about Gwaz Dran in the first place to tell her about him in passing ) as Dran typed in a complicated password to open a dark hallway behind the counter.

 

“This way, Orderlies.” Dran waved his hand, summoning them to follow him down the hallway.

 

“I don’t like this,” Lucifer grumbled as he fell into place beside Michael, back and shoulders tense enough that you could likely use his back as a cutting board without drawing much blood. “Can’t we just kill him and be done with it? We could be walking right into a trap.” Michael patted his back encouragingly, which was, coincident enough, the way she pushed him into the hallway before her. 

 

“If we do walk right into a trap, I give you the full right to kill him and then say ‘I told you so’. Come on, Lucifer. We’ll be fine.”

 

-

 

Lucifer had to say that he absolutely did not like the dark hallway in the slightest. It reminded him too much of - before. Not with Luke, or his  _ parents  _ \- there was not a day, now, where he could even think that word without sneering in his mind - but… after that. With Leader Snoke, when Snoke began talking to him in earnest, after he fled Luke and the massacre he had left behind him

When he had been a teenager, long-limbed and awkward and aching, and all there was was dark hallways and Snoke, stormtroopers and mercenaries and the Force. It was the flip side of what Luke and what his mother and father had raised him for his whole life - the life of a general or monarch, how to never delve too deep in the Force, to never be angry. 

 

And at first he reveled in it, became Snoke’s gangly weapon, not looking threatening, but strong with the Force and a willing killer, and always, always, so  _ angry.  _

 

He didn’t know how not to be angry, anymore - it came with everything negative, every small inconvenience, brought with it a wave of wrath. Sadness was anger, as was anxiety and tiredness and everything was anger anger anger anger. It was perhaps one of the reasons that he dared, every so often, to resent Snoke. Even if he worshiped him, was so glad of the new path that he had been set on - this was his  _ own  _ path now, right? No longer being at the whim of the Force and what it liked to do with the people caught up in it?

 

(He refused to entertain the possibility that stepping off one path had just landed him on a slightly more twisted path. He was free, now. Wasn’t he?)

 

(Wasn’t he?)

 

He took a moment to realize they had stopped. It smelled like must and damp and shoes down here, but he could feel that several people had walked through here, could feel bounty hunter and pirate and smuggler, and, even, on rare occasion, traces of someone of a legitimate profession on the weapons and boots and clothes that remain here. He felt around with the Force, but even with the traces of people who had once been there, nobody but the three of them was in the room right now, and though Dran felt like - well, a black market shopkeeper, all twisted and hoping to cheat them into a swindle, but he wasn’t  _ planning  _ anything more dangerous that a weapon that fell apart when they used it, and Lucifer would be able to sense that off the bat.

 

“It’s not a trap,” he said, and Michael nodded, understanding, her position relaxing slightly, where Dran just looked confused. 

 

“Of course it isn’t. That little faith in me, Orderlies?” Though his eyes were curiously fixed on Lucifer as if he wanted to know more, and it was a look that made Lucifer’s skin crawl.

 

“Excuse us if we don’t entirely trust a man whose main profits come from bandits, bounty hunters, pirates, and smugglers,” he said coldly, staring Grax down. Two could play at this game, and he was a very experienced player. A nudge of the Force found Grax’s mind stronger than he would have initially thought, but still in flux enough that he was able to subconsciously add a spark of fear. 

 

Dran stepped back, hands raised in a placating gesture. “I mean no harm, Morningstar. Though, your reputation precedes the both of you, I must say.” His eyes were cold as he tipped his head to the side, evaluating Lucifer. “I had family in the system you destroyed, you know. So did many of these bounty hunters. If I were you, I wouldn’t let them know who you are. You might wake up one day with a few blaster holes where it’ll hurt.”

 

He gave Lucifer a few seconds to mull that decidedly unappetizing prospect over, before his smile sprang right back up, and he clapped him on the shoulder, heading to a different part of the much wider room. “Enough about that, though. Let’s get the two of you suited up.”

 

Lucifer, petty as though the action may have been, send a stab of a thought to Michael, and watched her spine arch when she received it. 

 

_ I’m blaming you for all of this. _

 

-

 

She didn’t quite remember whose idea the slave and bounty hunter disguise had been at first. If she had to guess, it was probably Lucifer’s, either brought up as some sort of dark joke, or as a way to get back at her for bringing him into this store, where - she didn’t need the Force to feel that he was distinctly uncomfortable here, for whatever reason. He had said that it wasn’t a trap. She vaguely remembered reading in her files somewhere when she had been first transferred to the Starkiller Base that he had something like claustrophobia. Maybe that had to do with it.

 

At any rate.

 

They were both stripping, Michael more comfortable in the act than Lucifer, so Dran could size them up for what clothes he had in stock. Michael had become somewhat immune to people’s idle eyes (or in Dran’s case, not so idle) watching her; the stormtrooper locker rooms were unisex and communal, and she had been changing in front of beings of all gender since she could remember. She was a little desensitized to it now. 

 

Lucifer, she could see, was not so comfortable, hiding his body halfway behind a counter as he stripped down to his shorts. She had to admit that she snuck a couple of looks; anyone could see a stormtrooper in their tighty whities, but she hadn’t ever seen Lucifer outside of the sheets of white fabric he cloaked himself in except for their way across here.

 

Dran let out a low whistle, and Michael crossed her arms over her chest, unimpressed. She was wearing nothing but her shorts and a jog bra now - still decent, but there was more skin vulnerable than usual. She missed her armor. “If you want to flirt with me, there are better ways to go about it.”

 

Dran laughed, as if that had been the last thought on his mind. “While I would otherwise go for it, trooper, that’s not really what’s on my mind right now. I’m just thinking - this really isn’t going to play out as I thought it might. You don’t exactly look the slave type.” He nodded at Michael’s physique. “Usually, for female slaves, they’re a little bit more…” He drew out a crude hourglass shape in the air with his hands.

 

Years of stormtrooper training, ever since she’d been a child, had meant that her body was mostly sinew and scar tissue. She didn’t look like one of the magazine body-builders, but her muscles were clearly defined, more than the point that it would be considered a novelty, or agile and attractive. A combination of chemical boosters and wherever she had picked up her genetics from meant she was taller than most human males, and hard work plus tough rations meant there wasn’t much extra fat on her - which might be considered aesthetically appealing for a flat stomach, but she didn’t have a substantial chest or back.

 

“Thank you, I suppose,” Michael said dryly, placing her arm on her hip. “It took a fair amount of work.” She tilted her head, considering their options. “Does that mean we just swap characters? It would be easy enough to pretend to be pirates, at least then we could keep our ship and say that we stole -”

 

“No, no, no. I think this idea will still work, just not in the way I first anticipated.” He tapped his chin, staring at Lucifer for a second before reaching out and taking him by the forearm. “Sienn! Come here!” The Twi’lek slave from before peered owlishly out from the shadows, and Dran handed Lucifer’s arm to them. “Xe’ll take care of  _ you,  _ Morningstar. Sienn, go to the back room. Suit him up as best you can.” The Twi’lek bowed slightly, before pulling along a somewhat indignant (and notably confused) Lucifer.

 

Michael raised an eyebrow at Dran, who was smiling as much as a Rodian could. “Now. Let’s get you looking like a bounty hunter, trooper.”

 

It took Michael a good few seconds to figure out what was about to happen, and when she did, she couldn’t help it. She burst out into a peal of laughter for a moment, thinking of Lucifer and seeing Dran’s smug face. 

 

-

 

Sienn didn’t allow for much modesty when it came to stripping him down, tugging out a series of fashion holos and comparing them to his size. Based on the few flashes he got to see of the outfits, and the glimpse of thought he had gotten from Dran’s mind, he really didn't like where this was going. “What are you  _ doing? _ ” he asked Sienn as they pulled out - something white and silk and see through. That definitely didn’t look like a bounty hunter’s costume. 

 

Xe gave him a brittle smile. “Dran told you to come here. You must have really pissed him off. He doesn’t show it, but he can be a little bit petty.” Xe considered Lucifer for a second, and then lowered a silver, ornate collar over his head. “That should do the trick. Hold still for a few moments.”

 

A “few moments” later, Lucifer soon learned, really meant the time span of a couple hours, as Sienn took the opportunity to totally hose him down, applying different designs of make up and washing them off, placing different jeweled bands or collars on him. His face was veiled, his nails were cut and polished, and xe kept cloaking him in silks of different measures of transparency, some which he abjectly refused to put on, not wanting to wear anything that was one shade more opaque than glass.

 

When he finally emerged, he felt as if his skin had been rubbed raw, and he was distinctly uncomfortable in the outfit he was wearing. It was more revealing than any garb he would typically wear, and seemed totally non-functional. He came out to find Michael with her legs crossed up on a worn armchair, drinking tea out of a battered copper cup and talking to Graz Dran. He noted her eyes widening and the tug of a smile restrained as he stepped out, arms folded over his chest and feeling duly uncomfortable.

 

“You’re laughing at me,” he accused, narrowing his eyes. She set down her tea and spread her hands, a gesture meant widely to placate.

 

“I would never, sir.” She almost made it sound believable, too, if he couldn’t sense her mirth bubbling in her chest, and didn’t know her for so long.

 

He flopped in the chair next to her, an undignified mess of limbs and sulking. “I hate this plan. How come  _ you  _ get the better outfit?” 

 

Michael was not dressed as a slave. She seemed to have undergone quite the physical transformation as well - there were dark, looping tattoos crossing her left side, curling around her collarbones, and, as far as Lucifer could see, swirling down to her hip and extending to the knuckles of her hand. He wondered idly how they had had the time to do that.

 

Her shirt was a cream-colored blouse, sleeves rolled and buttoned at the elbows, and it was transparent enough that Lucifer could see the faint darkness of her tattoos, and some of her jog bra still, when she leaned forward into the light. She was wearing a tough leather vest and sturdy black pants that went down to her knees, belted with blaster ammo, and a pistol model blaster on a thigh holster, a larger sniper rifle slung across her back. Her boots remained the same; sturdy First Order issue black boots, but they were common enough that Lucifer thought they weren’t likely to stand out. 

 

“Because I’m more likely to navigate my way easily through criminals without having to use the Force or stab anyone,” she said, turning her face to Lucifer, and he saw that that had changed as well. Her hair, rather than being neatly braided into a tight crown around her head, was half-shaved on the right and tied into a loose ponytail with a strip of brown leather, some strands of her hair left intentionally floating into her face. There was a scope covering her left eye, which distorted it as she looked at Lucifer, turning that chunk of her face pixelated and blue to his view. Her ears were unevenly pierced, as well, battered-steel loops going through the holes.

 

Lucifer swallowed. He hadn’t realized his skin had been heating up until the sweat on his skin caused one of his silver ornamentations to slip further down his arm. Michael usually looked like she could kick a man’s ass a few parsecs away, but now she looked - feral, almost. He had to admit it was attractive, though he’d never say it aloud. “I would never stab my way out of a situation. You don’t give me enough credit.”

 

Michael looked distinctly unimpressed, and Lucifer amended his statement after a moment of stony silence. “Unless, of course, there was a definite reason to stab my way out of said situation. If that was the appropriate and sensible reaction to have. After much planning.”

 

“Of course,” Michael said, deadpan, before turning back to Graz to start the negotiating on price.

 

-

 

Considering the kind of lowlifes that Dran typically dealt with, he was giving them a fairly good deal. In addition to the two costumes; slave for Lucifer and bounty hunter for Michael, they were getting changes of clothes for the next week or so, extra ornamentation for Lucifer and ammunition for the weapons he had given them, and some food and other supplies, as well as a hoverdroid to carry all their materials.

 

Michael supposed it might make up for his obvious pettiness in dressing Lucifer up like he had. 

 

“Now I can’t get you a ship,” Dran said, wagging his finger, when Michael brought up possible transportation. “You don’t have close to enough credits for that, and you still haven’t bought my silence yet.” Michael opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “We can discuss payment for that later. Now, what you’re going to do - there’s a bounty hunter ship docked here for a couple of days. Bounty hunters don’t typically work together, but their prize is pretty big this time around. You can probably join up with their party, so long as you don’t blow your cover. And they’ll likely make you prove yourself, so good luck.” His smile was somewhat weaselly, but it seemed an easy enough challenge for her. She’d done worse.

 

“I think I can do that.” He nodded, seeming unsurprised. 

 

“There’s not a betting pool for the two of you, but if there was, I’d put good money on it.” He raised a finger. “Now, to buy my silence.” She blinked.

 

“You already took most of our credits, and I don’t plan on doing you any… favors.” She expected his request would be something along that line. She had dealt with greasy pirates and black market dealers before with wide grins who thought they could make their way into her pants. Usually, they wound up with black eyes or lying dead in an alley somewhere, but in this case, they seemed a little more dependent on him. She would still refuse, though.

 

He laughed, long and with an edge to it. “That’s not what I was going to ask for, trooper, but now that you mention it -” His eyes swept her body for a moment, gaze appreciative.

 

“No.” she said firmly. 

 

“Fair enough. Anyway, what I was going to ask for was your gun.” It took Michael a moment to realize what he was asking for, and picked up her First Order-standard gun, eying Dran curiously. 

 

“Why would you want this?”

 

Dran’s shrug was deceivingly nonchalant. “You’re a stormtrooper trying to dress up like a bounty hunter. Sometimes, there’ll be bounty hunters coming through here trying to look like stormtroopers. Besides, even if it isn’t for a disguise, it’s a good edition. Sturdy.” While Michael really didn’t want to give her gun up, their integrity was substantially more important, and she handed it over to Dran without a second thought. He inclined his head. “Many thanks, trooper.”

 

“Thanks to you, as well,” Michael said, stepping up to shake his hand, and tossing her rifle onto the hoverdroid’s back, which beeped at her for a second indignantly. Lucifer came to her shoulder like a phantom, glaring for a moment at the hoverdroid, which shrunk to Michael’s other side, beeping skittishly. She rolled her eyes. “It’s like I’m working with children. Come on.”

 

“Do you really think this is a good plan?” Lucifer said, pulling the gauzy veil on over his mouth.

 

“Well, if it isn’t, we don’t really have a back up,” Michael said lightly, heading up the stairs and into the light.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dran had given them the location of where the bounty hunters were stopping for drinks; a run-down place that sold everything from spice to Corellian brandy, or so it advertised. Michael was pretty sure said brandy would include more water or piss in it than actual liquor, so she was skeptical about many of the advertisements that decorated the entryway and the alley leading up to the entrance. Lucifer was adjusting his various bangles and silks, looking like a wet cat. “Are you sure that this is the best idea?”

 

“It’s the only one we have so far,” Michael retorted, privately amused by how uncomfortable Lucifer was. She was going to take this as her quiet revenge for the many destroyed consoles that Lucifer had left behind in his fits of rage. If he looked closely enough, he would see the small light blinking on her holo that demonstrated she was recording. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Raphael’s face at the sight of Lucifer dressed up in silks and slave finery.

 

Lucifer shot her a sideways look, and Michael could tell that he knew exactly what she was thinking. Her lips twisted into a lopsided smile, and she opened the door for him with a tip of her head. “I hate you,” Lucifer said, stepping into the smoky and crowded bar. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

 

“I do,” Michael said shortly, stepping in behind him and breathing in the stink of sweat, smoke, blaster chargers, and alcohol - a combination that brewed in any seedy bar in the Outer Rim - with her hand rested casually by her blaster. “I’ve been close to shady types before. We had to work with bounty hunters for a few different missions. I see no reason why I can’t imitate them.” She looked Lucifer up and down, pushing him into a small niche in the hallway. Her face turned deadly serious.

 

“The problem is going to be  _ you. _ ”

 

Lucifer blinked at the sudden change in her tone; one moment they had been bantering back and forth, and now she had the look on her face that he had only seen her direct at the most incompetent of troopers when they disobeyed her. His first instinct was to lash out at the sudden movement, using the Force to wrap around Michael’s neck and  _ hold -  _ and then he realized she might have a point. He was the incompetent factor in this equation.

 

The muscles in Michael’s neck jumped as he held them tight for a moment, and it was a moment of spite that caused him to hold her in place for a few seconds longer. To her credit, she didn’t gasp for breath when he released her, merely narrowed her eyes.

 

“This is what I mean. You’re meant to be a slave, Lucifer. I  _ know  _ that you didn’t want this disguise,” she said, cutting him off sharply when he started to protest “ - but we have to carry through with it now. We’re going to get on a ship in hopes that I can finally get through to Raphael, and we can get off of this blasted planet. So  _ stop  _ acting like a Sith, and act like a slave. You can be high and mighty once your position is returned.”

 

Lucifer’s teeth grit, but he acknowledged that Michael was in the right. For a moment, he simply stewed, the pictures and greasy knick-knacks that dotted the hallway shaking as he clenched and unclenched his fists, and then he nodded, stilling his hands. “What should I do?” It came out like a growl, but he did  _ say it,  _ and that was what mattered, in the end.

 

Michael looked approving. “For one, don’t use the- whatever your shtick is,” she waved her fingers in the air, and Lucifer fought back the urge to explain the nuances of the Force to her, “ - unless you’re going to be  _ subtle  _ about it.” 

 

Stormtroopers viewed the Force with - something like exasperation, for the most part. Once in awhile, a stormtrooper would crop up with a high midichlorian count (Michael had one slightly above average, for example. So had Gabriel.), but it never came to anything. It was something for Skywalkers and old wives’ tales. All it came to was people thinking they were invincible, or trying to rule the world. It was a pattern that had been repeated so many times.

 

Lucifer thought that attitude was beneath him. Michael (and many of the others) privately thought that they were better off without the Force. They had seen the haunted look in Lucifer’s eyes, and heard of the fate of the Jedi. They might be seen as disposable, but at least there wasn’t a wolf following their heels, barely restrained.

 

If Lucifer couldn’t keep it under wraps while they were travelling incognito, Michael was going to put stock in a working shock collar. 

 

She knew that she’d likely get a demotion, or some sort of reprimand, when the fragments of the First Order made their ways back together, licking their wounds, but all that mattered now was that they were intact when that meeting occurred. If Lucifer tried on his own, he’d end up with a sizeable hole in his head, finger-waving tricks or no. 

 

She got her thoughts together with a huff of breath. Though she’d gladly shove the knife in her boot through her thigh before she admitted it, she was genuinely frightened when a phantom hand had tightened around her neck, though they had been trained for it. (It was a precaution put in place so stormtroopers wouldn’t accidentally startle and shoot Lucifer while being choked.) “You can’t appear arrogant, either. Try and seem - meek, almost.” 

 

“How do you mean?” Lucifer asked, warily. He was still considering just storming in there and stealing the bounty hunter’s ship. It would be so much more… dignified than anything like this. 

 

“Let your shoulders droop. If you make eye contact with anyone, don’t maintain it. Keep your head low, and don’t speak out of turn. Try to blend in, don’t take up space. Keep yourself - compact, so to speak.” Lucifer considered that for a second and let the proud cast in his back leave, pulling his shoulders in towards himself, and swallowing nervously. 

 

“Yes, sir.” Michael stared incredulously for a moment before he gave her a wolfish grin, all teeth and dangerous mirth. “You’re not the only one who can be a good actor. I’m a better liar than I think you know.” Michael grinned back at him for a moment, sharp and brief. 

 

“Well, then. That will be to our advantage.” She didn’t think anything about Lucifer calling her ‘sir’. It was the honorific for all higher-ranking stormtroopers, whether they were male, female, or neither. “Let’s go.” 

 

They edged their way out of the alcove that Michael had pulled the two of them into, Michael striding forwards confidently, and Lucifer slipping behind her, doing his best to appear submissive or small. He reached out with his mind, feeling around for a group of people. His nose wrinkled as he picked up on some of the thoughts that were passing through their minds. There was so many crude thoughts that were passing - pirates looking up the skirts of servers, somebody slipping poison in the drink of a boasting smuggler, bounty hunters shooting at the skittering rats that make their way underneath the tables.

 

Then he spotted them, a cluster of - he would almost call it  _ purpose.  _ They had a set to their minds, more than most of the idle criminals and scum here could say. The bounty hunters seemed to be a variety of different species. Lucifer reached to take Michael’s sleeve gently. “There,” he whispered, so low that it was almost indistinguishable from the murmur of the crowd, and inclined his head. “Should we go - ?”

 

“No, not yet,” Michael said, moving over to the bar, and after a second of frustration, Lucifer followed her. He might as well try following her for the rest of this. He stepped up on a stool to her right as she ordered something that looked toxic and bright blue, and rolled his eyes, about to ask if her plan of action was really to get a drink, when he stiffened, skin prickling, extorting as much effort as he could afford to not turn. 

 

Behind him, there was a leering humanoid with three eyes, who had no qualms about raking said eyes up and down his body. “You’re a pretty one. How much?” Without waiting for a response, he reached around the white silk that cloaked Lucifer’s chest, stretching his hand down to his hip bones. Lucifer nearly flew back from the bench, ready to use the Force to throw the intruder away from him, before there was a squeal and the sound of a blaster firing, and he realized that that wouldn’t be necessary. 

 

The action in the bar stilled as they watched the intruder’s back pressed to the bar, still making quiet whimpering noises. It would seem that they enjoyed a fight, and Lucifer found himself entranced as well. He could hear the chink of credits being exchanged and used the distraction to edge to the stool Michael had been sitting on.

 

The reason she wasn’t sitting in it now was fairly plain to see. 

 

The three-eyed humanoid had his back pressed against the bar, hands covering the bleeding hole where his ear had once been and making pathetic whimpering noises at the pain of it, tears crowding at the side of his eyes. 

 

Michael stood pressing him to the table, blaster pressed to his forehead and making his eyes, still running over with tears, cross, focused on the gun squarely to his temple. The knife that she had hidden in her boot was in her hand now, digging into his throat and drawing green-blue blood. 

 

Her eyes were even, pupils dilated, and she looked eerily calm. 

 

“If you touch him again, this shot is going straight through your thick skull. Do you understand?” she said, voice still calm and collected, and Lucifer marveled at her intimidation tactics. She seemed to have perfected this art, and there was a ripple of laughter and cheers rolling through the seedy bar, encouraging Michael to stab him, to shoot him, or just calling out to join the noise.

 

At the cheers, Michael seemed to get an idea, and her smile was unnoticeable to anybody but Lucifer. She kept her gun pressed to the now white-faced humanoid’s temple, and carefully let her knife fall back into her boot. With an almost deadly precision, she reached into the humanoid’s jacket, nothing but an unsympathetic look given for his gulping, and tossed the bag of credits she unearthed to the waiting bartender.

 

“Drinks are on him!” she announced, finally pulling the blaster away and finishing the last sip of her own drink. A wave of sound roared outwards from the crowd, and she bent at her waist, giving something like a mocking bow, before sitting back down, and ordering another … whatever the neon blue liquid she had been drinking was. 

 

Lucifer’s attention was drawn to the group of bounty hunters they had been told to join to get off-planet, who were now discussing something quietly, glancing over at the two of them. “Should we approach them?” Michael shook her head. 

 

“Not yet. We’ll wait for them to approach us. If we ask them to come on their ship, they’ll find a way to profit off of it.” Lucifer tilted his head, looking at her accusingly. 

 

“You’re too good at this, you know?” Michael held back a smile.

 

“We all have our areas of expertise, Morningstar. I’m sure yours will come in handy later on, but for now, I’m glad this isn’t the first time I’ve been stranded.” He blinked. That was news to him. He’d have to ask for further information about that from her later. She straightened her back, downing the dregs of her drink. “Don’t look now, but here comes our ride. Hopefully.”

 

Sure enough, there was a member of the bounty hunter group who tapped Michael on the back. Lucifer was doing his best to hold back his disbelief - she looked like a young human, no more than nine or so. Then again, apparently Boba Fett had started his career at about that age, so maybe he should refrain from judgement. Her eyes weren’t human, though - they were a cloudy, sickly white, all the way through.

 

Her voice was even that of a child’s when she spoke to Michael. “Hi! My name’s Lilith.” Michael watched her warily for a moment before extending a hand, which enveloped Lilith’s much smaller one entirely.  

 

Lucifer thought she was right to be wary. Even if Lilith looked like a little girl, he could sense a great force of malevolent energy coming off of her, and she certainly  _ felt  _ old, even if she didn’t look it. She felt ancient. 

 

“I’m Meothe Acrux,” Michael said, going with the names that they had chosen before they left. She jerked her head in Lucifer’s direction, and Lucifer bowed his head, murmuring a greeting and trying to avoid the apprehension that prickled the hair on the back of his neck. “He’s mine. Thay Sailcatcher.” She said his name as if she had spat it out, and Lucifer understood why - it was a slave name, like his grandfather’s name had once been - Skywalker - unfortunate people trying to make themselves sound grand.

 

Lilith nodded, and gave them a big, toothy grin. There was a gap in her front two teeth, and Lucifer thought that if this was a trick - a glamour or she was a changeling, she was very invested in this ruse. “We have a proposition for you.” She turned and started making her way back to the group of bounty hunters, and stopped when she realized Lucifer and Michael weren’t following her. She beckoned them forwards, smiling. “Well, c’mon, sillies!”

 

They remained in their seats until her blonde head of hair had disappeared into the crowd, before Michael spoke. “Is it just me, or is she a little… unsettling?” Lucifer shook his head. 

 

“It’s definitely not just you. Something is  _ off  _ with her.” He took this moment to give Michael an innocent, broad grin from behind his veil. “Your plan.” Michael rolled her eyes, but he saw her rest her hand on the trigger of her blaster for a moment before, grim faced, she adjusted her jacket. 

 

“Yes, it was. And a good one, at that. Come on, let’s go meet our new friends.” 

 

Lucifer restrained a smile as he watched Michael huff out a breath. “They seem charming. Just your type.” Michael side-eyed him violently, and took the occasion to grab his wrist and drag him through the crowds, but he was still smirking. He knew he had won. “Maybe you should consider a career swap, Michael.” 

 

“Maybe you should consider shutting your  _ kriffing  _ mouth _. _ ” Michael said flatly.

Lucifer smiled sweetly. “But then there would be no way to bother you, dearest trooper.”

 

From the stony look on her face, Michael was ignoring him now, which Lucifer was going to consider a personal victory. Rising Sith Lord or no, he still maintained some of the pettiness of his youth. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
